Pasta alla Gricia

I am thirty years old. I turned thirty on Wednesday, May 12th, and Sean took the day off work and we had breakfast as a family with the good pastries from the bakery on East Broadway and Liam said "Happy Birthday Mama, you are very old" which is accurate and not intended as an insult. He is three. He has not learned the social rule about age. I have decided I don't mind the social rule being absent in this case.

The birthday dinner on Saturday was everything I asked for. The Sicilian pasta came out exactly right -- two pounds of rigatoni, the fennel sausage, the hard-boiled eggs folded in, the mozzarella melted through, the breadcrumbs on top browned just enough. My aunt Peggy was there and said it was as good as hers. She was being generous. It was as good as hers. Both sets of grandparents at the table, the kids up late, the apartment full of the specific noise of family eating and talking over each other.

Sean gave me a first edition -- a small one, a poem collection, a poet I love. He had been looking for it for two months without telling me. Inside the cover he wrote three lines. I will not quote them here. They are mine.

Thirty. I am thirty and I am a nurse and a wife and a mother and I am in a South Boston apartment that is too small and I have two children who are everything and a husband who knew about the poet and I am exactly where I am supposed to be. I have not always been able to say that. I can say it at thirty.

The Sicilian rigatoni was the centerpiece of that Saturday — two pounds of pasta, a full table, my aunt Peggy’s approval — and what I keep coming back to is how a good pasta dish carries a whole room. Pasta alla Gricia is in that same family of feeling: a few honest ingredients, nothing to hide behind, and the result is somehow more than the sum of its parts. It’s the pasta I’d make on an ordinary Tuesday when I want to feel like the week is worth celebrating anyway — which, at thirty, I have decided every week is.

Prep Time: 10 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4

Ingredients

12 oz rigatoni or tonnarelli pasta
6 oz guanciale (cured pork cheek), cut into 1/2-inch cubes (pancetta may be substituted)
2 oz Pecorino Romano, finely grated, plus more for serving
1 oz Parmigiano-Reggiano, finely grated
1 tsp coarsely ground black pepper, plus more to taste
1/4 cup dry white wine
1 tbsp kosher salt (for pasta water)

Instructions

Render the guanciale. Place guanciale in a large, cold skillet and set over medium heat. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the fat has rendered and the meat is golden and lightly crisp, about 8–10 minutes. Do not drain the fat — it is the sauce base.
Deglaze. Pour in the white wine and stir, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Simmer until the wine is nearly fully reduced, about 2 minutes. Remove pan from heat and set aside.
Boil the pasta. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Salt it well and cook pasta according to package directions until just shy of al dente, about 1–2 minutes less than the package time. Reserve 1 1/2 cups of pasta cooking water before draining.
Build the sauce. Return the skillet with guanciale to medium-low heat. Add the drained pasta directly to the pan along with 3/4 cup of the reserved pasta water. Toss vigorously for 2–3 minutes, allowing the starchy water to emulsify with the rendered fat into a glossy, cohesive sauce.
Finish with cheese. Remove the pan from heat. Add the black pepper and, working quickly, add the grated Pecorino Romano and Parmigiano-Reggiano in two additions, tossing constantly and adding additional pasta water a splash at a time as needed to keep the sauce smooth and creamy. The residual heat will melt the cheese without seizing it.
Plate and serve. Divide pasta among four warm bowls. Finish each serving with an extra grating of Pecorino Romano and a fresh crack of black pepper. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pasta alla Gricia — The Dish That Tastes Like Exactly Where You’re Supposed to Be